The Gunslinger's Bride
by Klink
Summary: R for language, and future violence. This is only the first part of the story, not quite a chapter one, but more of a precursor. It is an introduction in the form of a chapter. Oh yeah, this book is based on King's The Dark Tower series. Written in wo


She sat there, amidst the flora and fauna of the oasis, waiting. She had been waiting there for ten years now, and were she a normal person, were the reasons not so drastic, she would have moved on, left, and never looked back.  
  
For half of the sunlight hours, she lived in the shadow of the thing...she called it that, for she had no idea what it was exactly...except a thing. A mole poking out of the arid desert she was trapped in, confined to the oasis.  
  
Waiting....waiting.....waiting for The Man. The one she dreamt about, every night, every day....the one who's eyes. The thought of his touch made her wet, the thought of his kisses made her orgasm. The sight of his face, the look in his eyes....made her cry. Not silent tears, not little hiccups of feminine sobs, but tears that poured, and lips that were parted as she screamed out.  
  
What did she scream out? Well she knew not his name, so she would scream out different names every time it occurred, attempting to place a name to the face, and each night she awoke to the echos of that scream, soon to be swallowed up by the sound of the wind whistling tauntingly over the cracked deserts face.  
  
Ten fucking years! Ten god damn years wasted, sitting here, and every day, when she woke up, she set a goal, speaking it aloud for the sake of a voice to hear; "If He's not here by the time the shadow hits my back, I leave....no more waiting."  
  
But she never kept that goal, that promise, showing how fickle she was. She could not even keep a promise to herself. Not when it came to Him.  
  
He was her every thought, her every yearning, and after the first year of being here, she had begun to view Him on the level of God.  
  
Truly He must be, for when she slept, she dreamt of his adventures, He took lives like a God...and He had brought in lives as well, she had seen it, felt their presence.  
  
Now she was eighteen, living here ten years, since she was eight. The dreams had started when she was seven, but then it had been the mere flash, a simple glimpse of the back of a head, nothing important. Then she had thought it was Billy who sat in front of her at school....but she didn't love the back of Billy's head like she did the boy's head in her dream.  
  
Then, though, she had viewed him as a man, and he had been....but in spirit, in presence, in mind, he was a boy then, not yet realizing the true goal of his quest.  
  
Now, now He was a man, fulled realizing His potential, the reason behind Him. He knew His ka.  
  
And soon, she felt it, He would soon know her.  
  
And she was terrified, she had no idea as to whether He would know her, if He even had the dreams. If that were so, then why was she here? Why had she gone to sleep one night when she was eight, and had awoken here, in this Oasis, where even though little rain fell, and where she would wake up, or turn around, and find food.  
  
But she knew He was coming, knew it as sure as she knew that what she was breathing was air.  
  
She was lacking in so many qualities though, she was not intelligent, could read and write well enough, but she had the education that any normal eight year old would have had, had the knowledge of the horrors and evils of life that an eight year old had.  
  
In fact her education in the ways of people was less than many people; she had been home schooled, so the fact that she saw no one know was truly no great horror or fear for her. She survived, and she had her imagination.  
  
The imagination of an eight year old.....  
  
But perhaps not....she had lived, matured, through her dreams. Had been by His side when He shot the crazed, the evil....and sometimes the good. She knew the look of those to trust and those not to trust, merely by gauging His reaction, comparing it to facial expressions, features, clothes, mere gestures.  
  
And in boredom, for the past six years, she had begun to play a game, to see if she could draw a stick from her waistband as quickly, or faster than He. She had yet to surpass Him, and she knew, not fool enough to lie to herself, that she held back, keeping back the speed so-as she would never surpass Him.  
  
Would a priest like to know more than God? To have more understanding than the One he worshiped and possibly trusted above all others? No, a Priest would hold back, and not assume.  
  
And so she held back, not assuming she could truly be faster, for perhaps in her dreams He slowed down in those moments so she could witness how He did it.  
  
Trapped in a woman's body, the girl waited for Him to come, to claim her, to love her as she loved Him, as she trusted Him.  
  
The Gunslingers Bride. 


End file.
